


I Remember The Rain

by Sanguine_Saturnine



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CPTSD, Confusion, Crying Bucky Barnes, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Identity, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, flashbacks to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:59:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguine_Saturnine/pseuds/Sanguine_Saturnine
Summary: Bucky is having trouble adjusting to life after the Hydra concentration camp. After the torture.Steve is familiar but he's also... New. Different. Bucky doesn't remember. Bucky doesn't know how or why.First person POV of Bucky fighting (and drowning) in psychological trauma and the grief over losing not only his own identity but having his partner taken from him. Even though Steve is very much alive and holding tightly onto him.(Also using the Alpha/Omega relationship dynamic. Tags will be updated based on new content from chapters as they come.)





	I Remember The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I found this on my computer and edited and added to it. I really want to do more and have some ideas of where to take it. It's definitly going down the road of torture and mind control, and will go into what happened to Bucky at the camp.
> 
> I'll also eventually be throwing in some baby / growing up Stucky!
> 
> Have fun~~~

The nightmares wake me again.

Shivery sweat rolls down my thighs. Sticks to the sheet, my shirt. It itches in my hair.

I pant as I struggle to sit more upright, though the world is heavy and threatens to tip violently.

Feint light sways in the small room with the gentle billow of night air. I watch the shadow of the curtain wave lazily across the wall, the floor, and the pile of clothes on the chair in the corner of the room while my breathing slowly grows steadier.

A frown threatens to furrow my brow. I am already unable to remember.

Confusion begins to swirl in me while I try to reach into the fog yet, once more, as always, I am left with nothing. Instead I come back to find myself staring blankly at the side of the bedframe. It doesn’t register that I’m in a bunkbed. Not really. At least, not in the strictest sense. I don’t really question where I am. I’m not with it enough to even think about that.

_I think I need water….?_ I slur, even as I say this to myself within my own mind.

This time I do frown, trying to work out what that even is or means besides this overwhelming and perhaps a little distressing dryness in the back of my throat.

_How do I do that?_

Body heavy, I half flail to sit up more, tangled up in and sluggishly fighting with the bed sheet. Crossing my legs, I slump forward, head resting in my hand. I feel… dizzy? Not sure. _Am I even awake?_

_What does that mean anymore? … Anymore…?_

_…_

_Anymore implies that I--_

A grunt from the bunk above me cuts into my thoughts and I lose them. Glancing up, I watch the mattress bend slightly through the wooden slats.

The colour of the sheet tucked in above me is a deep dark green. I find it soothing. Reaching for it, my fingers brush lightly across the material as I let myself slowly sink back down onto my back, one foot resting on the bed, one hand on my chest, though otherwise splayed. I clutch at the sheet by my waist, rubbing slowly with my thumb.

The sweat still clings to me. I am thankful for the cooler air. At least the humidity has died down. Somewhat.

A soft whimper drags me out of my drifting. In the dark I make out his hand hanging over from the top bunk, twitching slightly. In my mind I reach for it, gently brushing my fingers over his own. Over his palm, his wrist. In my mind.

I allow myself to make a soft soothing noise and hear him turn, the bed frame creaking just a little bit. I hold my breath for his to even out.

  
The sheets rustle slightly as I shift around, trying to get comfortable. Something sticks to my back. A chain pressing into my neck.

Grimacing, I pull at it. Struggle too much with it.

The metal clinks and I grab them, locking my fist around the dog tags and hold my breath. His breathing doesn’t change. My heart slams in my chest all the same.

Forcing an exhale, I hold the small sheets of metal up above my face. Rub my thumbs on the grooves.

James Buchanan Barnes, Sgt.

_This is me this is me this is me. Isn’t it?_

My lips move as I read the name again, frowning as I try to force myself to connect to the words. To the feel of the sounds.

A sigh as I give up and let my hand drop to my chest.  
I can’t even focus on the bunk above me. _His bunk._

He…

I frown.

My fingers lightly caress my chest over the dog tags.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” I whisper, barely a breath. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes."

  
The night takes forever to end. I wake constantly. Frustratingly. How much longer does it need to be, I mean, really? When I am out my dreams are so vivid. Dark but light but fast and so full. So many. Yet when I wake hardly any of that time has been tempted to pass.

I have spent hours talking, screaming, running through countless hallways. Crying, thrashing, screaming some more... I think. I can’t remember; the dark fog takes them all away upon waking.

So much time. Too much time. And yet. None.

This is like a second life. A second life? I barely even have enough to call one.

Slowly, I allow my eyes to open.

The room is still painfully dark. Of course it is. How many times has this been now? How long have I been lying here? I can’t check on my watch, partly as the poor light coming from the lamp outside the window does worse for my eyesight than help it, even were I to stand before the window, and also partly because of that, of how I am so very much unable to sit, let alone stand. As of right now I can’t even remember how.

I drift.

Birds. Talking, casual chatter that I can’t make out as anything more than human and language. And, mercifully, the sun.

My eyes slowly drag open, wandering the now gently sun-lit room. The small set of drawers by the bed, the dresser against the wall opposite, the mass of things spread on top of that, the wardrobe, the chair in the corner piled high with clothing. The closed door. The rug on the otherwise hardwood floor.

I struggle to sit up. I find an open fob watch on the set of drawers beside me, a piece of paper, neatly torn underneath it. An even neater note written upon that.

Smiling slightly, yet I do not feel it, I reach over and slowly slide the paper out.

  
_Hey Bucky~_

_When you wake up don’t forget to have the water that’s on the nightstand---please try to drink all of it, it’ll do you good!_

_I left you my pocket watch in case you wake up before I finish up today._

_Schedule:_  
_\- morning meeting 0800 - 0945 (may go longer??? Honestly, I don’t know!)_  
_\- I have to give a course for part of basic training today at 1030, and again at 1400 so I hope the morning meeting doesn’t mess that up (too much)_  
_If you wake up before or even after 1100 can you bring me coffee? Please? They’ll let you in, if I’m in a meeting then (surprise!meetings are common??? Who knew the military weren’t that organised?), just make sure to wear the uniform I put out for you on my bed, and the pins that I laid out. And if I’m out with the recruits well I’d really appreciate the coffee! And seeing you!_

_I should be in my office? I hope. By the time you do wake up. I’ll take you out for lunch, too, probably around 1230----1300 at the latest. If you want you can just meet me in my office or even wait there for me all morning. You have the key. If not then come find me?? It’ll be okay, I promise._

_If I don’t see you by my lunchtime break then I’ll come find you, okay?_

_Get some rest today, Buck._

_\---- Steve_

  
With a softer, more genuine smile, I reach out to take the glass. It shakes slightly in my hand.

I spend too long, far too long empty staring at the face of the watch before I can even bring myself to slowly attempt to scan it. To try and read it. I frown, feeling the irritation creeping into me. _This should not be this hard._

I growl softly at myself and slam the watch down onto the side table. Pain splinters into my hand. I do it again. And again. I can’t breathe. Before I know it I start to cry.

Trembling. Gasping. Crying.

The door to the room creaks open. I draw back in on myself, rubbing my hand on my thigh but moving is too hard. I can’t stop crying.

“Hey, Buck, hey shhh no shh it’s okay,” his voice shakes-- _I’m sorry!!_ \--cutting into me so deeply-- _I’m so fucking sorry!!_ \--in a way that’s so painful. A way I can’t even begin to comprehend.

Hands run over me, gentle at first then feverishly.

Weight dips on the bed beside me and then I am drawn into his lap, bundled against his chest. Safe. Warm.

_Safe?_

I can’t stop shaking. Vibrating so damn fucking hard. I can’t even feel how much I’m crying.

“I--I d--I d--I donn know wh--wh--why--y--y--y,” I cry, his hand a slow pressure rubbing up and down my back.

I can’t breathe.

“Shhh, Buck. Shhhh.”

I whimper.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me!!” I hear a high squealing. Broken. Distorted. Not human. Is that… coming from me?

“Bucky it’ll be okay--”

“No!”

I can’t stop shaking. I start to struggle. I can’t breathe.

Who am I who am I what is going on where am I?

_Who the hell is Bucky?_


End file.
